An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Title: The Forgotten Predator
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Peter Hale/Nurse Jennifer
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall, Derek Hale, Chris Argent, Melissa McCall, Allison Argent, Jackson Whittemore, Kate Argent, Peter Hale, Jennifer (Peter Hale’s Nurse), Jennifer (Teen Wolf), Alan Deaton
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Character, Alternate Canon, Developing Relationship, Law Enforcement, Werewolves, Case Fic
Summary: When half a dead woman is found in the woods outside Beacon Hills, Special Agents Stilinski and Martin return to their hometown to investigate.
“You’re sure this is legal?” Lydia says, fussing with her ponytail. It’s almost midnight. They’re sat in the jeep with the lights off, waiting for Derek to leave the house. Both Stiles and Lydia are in street clothes that can stand a bit of abuse; they’ve only got so many suits, and dry-cleaning is expensive.
“I double-checked the records. All of this is county property as of last year.” The burned-out husk of the Hale house sits on the hill like a pile of old bones. From what Scott’s said, Derek, is apparently living here right now. Jesus Christ.
There’s a black ‘09 Camaro sitting in front of the house, still in remarkably good condition considering where it’s been parked for the last week or so. After a few minutes, Derek exits the house and lopes toward the car, getting in and driving down the dirt road towards the highway.
Stiles and Lydia pile out of the car and grab the shovels.
There’s disturbed earth by the northwest corner of the house. Lydia lets out a long-suffering sigh, and they start to dig.
They’re about three feet down when Stiles’ shovel hits something that isn’t dirt. Stiles brushes the soil away with his hands to reveal a bundle, wrapped in sackcloth and bound in twine. Lydia pulls a switchblade from her pocket and cuts the ties. Stiles twitches the bundle open.
There’s a wolf’s head wrapped inside.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? 'Hmm?'”
Lydia reaches up and unwraps more of the bundle, revealing the wolf’s neck, shoulders, and forelegs. The animal’s fur is black unless that’s the dirt.
“This isn’t a normal wolf,” Lydia says. She points like she’s in a biology lab somewhere and not in a hole next to a burned-out house in the woods. “See the shoulder blades? Those aren’t the shoulders of a quadruped. They’re almost like a human’s. And the front paws are all wrong.”
Lydia shrugs. “It’s a theory.”
Stiles glances up to make sure Derek hasn’t suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and the light from his flashlight lands on something purple. A flower.
“Lydia,” he says, tapping her on the shoulder. She stands, and he points his flashlight at the flower. “What plant is that?”
Lydia squints in the darkness for few seconds, thinks, then says, “Aconitum lycoctonum. That’s not supposed to be here.”
“What, it’s not native to California?”
“Not native to North America,” Lydia corrects. She elbows him, hard. “Stiles. The common name for this species is 'Northern Wolfsbane.'”
Stiles climbs out of the hole and kneels next to the flower. It’s small, probably very young, and looks freshly planted. Stiles can see something tied to the stem…
He digs his fingers into the dirt and pulls. There’s a rope attached to the plant. Stiles keeps pulling; the rope runs under the dirt, back towards the grave.
“You were one of those kids who wouldn’t stop pulling at a loose thread until the entire sweater was destroyed, weren’t you?” Lydia says, still in the hole, hands on her hips. Stiles shushes her and keeps going.
The rope’s been buried in a spiral around the grave, and around the second loop Lydia looks down at the body and says, “Stiles, you should come look at this.”
The werewolf isn’t a wolf anymore. It’s half of a woman.
“Think that’s our Jane Doe?” Stiles says.
Stiles spins around, a hand on his holster. Derek Hale is standing not ten feet away. Stiles didn’t hear the car come back. Fuck.
“Federal agents. Put your hands on your head and lie down on the ground,” Stiles snaps. He can hear Lydia climbing out of the hole behind him.
“What?” Derek growls and takes a step closer. His teeth lengthen and his eyes glow blue.
Stiles draws and aims at Derek. He doesn’t put his finger on the trigger. Yet. “You’re under arrest for murder. Get down on the ground with your hands behind your head, or I will be forced to shoot you.”
Derek’s gaze flicks from the gun, to the grave, to (presumably) Lydia. He looks like he’s considering.
Slowly, Derek lifts his hands and puts them behind his head.
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